


In The Hall Of The Mountain King

by winterseasalt



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Bellarke Bingo, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Mount Weather, Mount Weather Bellamy, Mount Weather Octavia, Mutual Pining, POV Bellamy Blake, POV Clarke Griffin, Pregnancy, Presumed Dead, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Survival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24592774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterseasalt/pseuds/winterseasalt
Summary: Bellamy and Octavia grew up in Mount Weather. Bellamy's whole life changes when he's sent on a mission to retrieve a group of teenagers who fell from the sky, and the President orders him into an arranged marriage with Clarke Griffin.Writing this story for my first Bellarke Bingo! It took me a few weeks to put together an outline, but now I'm super stoked to write it!
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Comments: 52
Kudos: 117





	1. The Sky Is Falling

**_Paging Lieutenant Bellamy Blake and Lieutenant Octavia Blake. Report to the President’s office for duty._ **

Bellamy groans when he hears his name over Mount Weather’s comms system. He hauls himself off the sofa and pounds on his sister’s bedroom door. 

“O!” He shouts gruffly, “you up?” He’s not surprised that she’s sleeping late after the ground patrol shift they worked the night before. His left arm is still throbbing from the hit he took from the Outsider that snuck up on them. 

“Go away!” Octavia grumbles, clearly annoyed. Bellamy throws his vest on over his uniform shirt and does up the clasps. 

“We’re being paged to Wallace’s office,” he persists.

“Damn it!” he hears her swear as she stumbles around in her room while he laces up his boots. She emerges a few seconds later with a murderous glare.

“Don’t shoot the messenger,” Bellamy mutters when she hands him a hair tie and sits in front of him to do up her own boots. He quickly gathers her hair into a tight braid and they’re ready to go.

“What do you think he wants now?” Octavia asks as they stride through the passageways to Level 5 on their way to Dante Wallace’s office. 

“No idea,” he grunts. Bellamy and Octavia are two of Wallace’s most trusted soldiers. They get special assignments frequently, especially since they got promoted to a ground unit. Bellamy thinks they make a great pair in the field, and he’s secretly relieved that he’s always there to protect his little sister because they’re on the same team. He can’t tell her that though because she’d probably push his ass off a cliff just to assert her independence. 

“Bellamy, Octavia,” Cage Wallace, the president’s son, greets them smugly when the arrive at the office. He’s wearing a suit as usual. Despite being second-in-command of the whole damn Mountain, Bellamy’s never seen him in a uniform. 

“Oh great, Cage is here,” Octavia rolls her eyes. Bellamy stiffens next to her. It makes him nervous when she pushes Cage’s buttons. Despite the older Wallace’s subtle admiration of their family, Cage is going to be President eventually and Octavia doesn’t need to be on his bad side. 

Before the younger Wallace can respond, the President enters the room, followed by Dr. Tsing, and the Blake siblings salute him, standing at attention and awaiting their orders. 

“At ease,” President Wallace nods at them and takes his seat behind his desk. Bellamy and Octavia remain standing while Cage and Dr. Tsing seat themselves in the chairs next to the desk. 

“We’ve had an interesting development on the ground,” President Wallace cuts right to the chase. Bellamy likes that about him; he doesn’t mince words. “A group of Outsiders we’ve never seen before landed twenty miles from here early this afternoon. Approximately a hundred of them.” The President pauses to gauge their reactions. 

“Landed, Sir?” Octavia asks politely, following protocol. Dante Wallace is one of the only people in Mount Weather whose authority she respects. 

“Yes, landed. From the sky,” Dante doesn’t blink as he speaks. “We think they came from space.” Bellamy and Octavia glance quickly at each other, and then back at the President, waiting for further information. 

“What’s even more interesting,” he continues, “is that they’re breathing the air with no visible signs of radiation sickness. A couple of them broke off from the main group, and they’re headed directly for Mount Weather. We think it may be a scouting party.”

Bellamy clenches his jaw and nods. As far as he knows nothing like this has happened in the recorded history of Mount Weather. He’s prepared to do whatever it takes to protect his people from a potential attack. 

“There are only five of them,” Cage speaks up from next to his father, his chin leaning on his hand. “The rest appear to be staying with their transport ship. We believe it was heavily damaged in the landing. It doesn’t appear to be operational.”

“Yes, Sir,” Bellamy acknowledges him. 

“From the information we’ve gathered so far, they seem much more … civilized than the savages we typically encounter outside of the Mountain,” President Wallace informs them, before turning to Dr. Tsing.

“There are four males and a female in the group making its way here,” she tells them. “If they’re really from space, that means humans have been living up there for almost a hundred years. That’s an incredible feat in itself. We have no idea how many more might be coming, or how they’ve managed to make themselves immune to the radiation in the atmosphere. We think it’s possible that the solar radiation in space weeded out their ancestors who were most susceptible, just like the Outsiders. We need you to apprehend them.”

 _So you can dissect them_ , Bellamy thinks with disgust, but he merely nods again. His preference would be to just kill them and get it over with, but it’s not his place to question the decisions of the President and his executive council. He just follows orders. 

“We’d like to keep this quiet for now,” the President says. “We’re classifying this as a top-secret mission.”

“Yes, Sir!” the Blakes respond in unison. They’re used to keeping secrets.

“We’re only sending the two of you because we trust your discretion. There’s a Rover waiting for you in the loading bay,” Cage tells them. “We need you to bring in all five of them alive, no mistakes.” 

O-O-O

Bellamy drives the Rover across the river and parks it in a deep thicket of brush, hoping they got there early enough that the space people didn’t hear the hum of the engine. 

“You want to watch the woods or the dash?” he asks his sister while his eyes scan the tree line ahead of them, looking for danger. 

“Fuck it, I don’t care. Dash,” she snaps at him. She’s still wiped from not getting enough sleep. Not that he had a particularly restful night, but Octavia always gets cranky when she's tired. 

“Do you think they’re really from space,” Bellamy asks her. 

“Does it even matter?” She responds with a question. “Tsing’s going to treat them like science experiments just like all the other Outsiders.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with her. “That would really be something though, wouldn’t it? Growing up in space, staring down at the Earth all the time. Crazy to think about. I wonder why they waited all this time to come back down if they could breathe the air. Maybe space is nice.”

“Whatever,” Octavia chirps. “Let’s just get them into custody and get home.”

Bellamy sees a flash of movement in the trees, and slowly lowers his eye to the scope on his rifle while Octavia monitors the heat sensors on the Rover’s dash to make sure no one else is approaching.

“I count five, just like Wallace said,” she informs him. “You see them?”

“Yeah,” he tells her quietly as he watches a boy who can’t possibly be older than 17 stumble over a root. He’s poorly prepared for wandering through hostile territory, dressed in a thin jacket with a pair of goggles perched on his forehead. He has no weapons that Bellamy can see. He’s followed by another adolescent boy, equally ill-prepared in a red jacket, still no weapons. Bellamy sighs. _What kind of an idiot wears red to walk through a forest patrolled by savage warriors and Reapers?_

“What is it?” Octavia demands, her hand on the radio, waiting for information to report back to Mount Weather. 

“If this is a scouting party, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” he tells her dryly, keeping his eye to the scope, “They don’t even have weapons.”

“Maybe they have some sort of space lasers we don’t know about,” Octavia retorts, half jokingly. “What do they look like?”

Bellamy sees a third boy, this one is tall with dark skin, wearing a backpack and also unarmed. “They’re just kids,” he tells her. “Sixteen to eighteen-years-old at most, still haven’t seen a weapon.” Bellamy knows that the Outsiders begin training as warriors from childhood, but these kids don’t look like fighters. They’re underfed, clumsy, and talking while they walk, completely exposing their position. _What kind of leaders send a group of clueless teens as scouts_ , he wonders. 

“Rover 1 to Mount Weather,” Octavia says softly into the radio handset. 

“Go ahead Rover 1,” Cage responds. 

“These are teenagers,” she reports, “they appear to be unarmed.”

“Copy that Rover 1, any sign of other Outsiders in the area?”

“No, Sir,” Octavia says. Despite her dislike for Cage, she’s always all business when she’s in the field. 

Bellamy’s breath catches in his throat when he sees her, walking in front of a fourth boy. She’s dressed like the others, in worn clothing too thin to protect her from the elements, let alone the sharpened blade of an Outsider sword. Her hair is the most beautiful shade of blonde he’s ever seen. No one in Mount Weather has blonde hair. He’s seen a few Outsiders with light hair before, but nothing like hers. He shakes his head and clears his throat. 

“Four males and a female, just like Wallace said,” he tells his sister, who relays the information through the radio. He follows the girl with his scope while she walks. It looks like she’s arguing with the floppy-haired boy who’s walking behind her. 

“All right, bring them in,” Cage responds. 

“How do you want to do this?” Octavia asks. “Gas?”

“Probably easiest,” Bellamy agrees. “Check again and make sure there are no Outsiders in the vicinity. I don’t want to have to fight them off while we’re loading the bodies”

“Copy that,” Octavia responds. Bellamy continues watching the unsuspecting teens moving closer through the trees. “No one else is out there Bell.”

“Alright,” he pulls back from the scope. The group is close enough to see without it now. “Let’s do this.” They wait behind the camouflage of the underbrush in their airtight ground unit suits, until the kids are only fifty feet away. Octavia gives him a slight nod and they pull the pins on their gas canisters at the same time, tossing them in the group’s direction. 

Bellamy moves quickly as the gas fills the air, reaching the blonde girl on the ground while her eyes are still fighting to stay open. Her deep blue eyes look up at him fearfully as she opens her mouth, but she takes a breath before speaking, and the full effects of the gas kick in, knocking her out cold. 

“Come on, let’s get them back home,” Octavia says as she kicks the legs of the boys one by one, making sure they’re all unconscious. “I don’t want any surprises out here.”

“On it,” Bellamy responds as he hoists the girl over his shoulder and walks her over to the Rover, placing her gently in the cargo area before returning to help Octavia with the boys. They get all five into the Rover without any interference from Outsiders and start their short journey back to Mount Weather. The terrain is rough and Bellamy finds himself fighting to keep his eyes on the trail ahead when they keep wandering toward the rear view mirror. 

The decontamination bay is eerily empty when they pull in. Cage must have ordered everyone else away so they wouldn’t see the space people. The thick steel doors clang shut behind them and they hop out of the Rover to unload their cargo. Bellamy is just lifting the girl when Cage and Tsing enter the facility in protective suits. 

“Well what have we here?” Cage asks admiringly as his eyes roam over the unconscious girl’s body. Bellamy suppresses the urge to punch him. He understands why the blood of the Outsiders is necessary to their survival, but he’s always hated the way Cage seems to get off on torturing them. Unfortunately, he’s just a soldier doing his job. 

“You’re right, they’re young,” Dr. Tsing says as she records information on her clipboard. “You can help me decontaminate the girl,” she gestures at Octavia. Bellamy hands the young blonde over to his sister, satisfied that Cage is stuck helping him move the boys to the decontamination showers. Each of the boys has a strange metal wristband that takes some work to pry off of their arms. Bellamy sees an electric spark flicker and then go dark when he pulls the wristband off of the boy with the goggles. 

“Never seen anything like this on an Outsider before,” he comments to Cage as he throws the dead wristband to the side. 

Cage shakes his head as he finishes prying one off of another boy. “No,” he answers, “but I’m sure Dr. Tsing will figure out what it is. They’re definitely more advanced.”

“Yes, Sir,” Bellamy nods and continues with his work. 

An hour later all of the space people are cleaned and locked in individual observation rooms, and Bellamy is back in his regular uniform. He’s surprised to see Octavia waiting for him at the end of the hall, since she was probably done way faster than him because there was only one girl. 

“She woke up,” Octavia whispers to him as they make their way home. He looks at his sister curiously. “She was begging us not to remove her wristband. Tsing thinks there are more people still in space and she was using it to communicate with them. She gave her an injection to put her back under.”

Bellamy nods and clenches his jaw. If there are more people in space, they’re probably not going to be thrilled that their kids have been taken hostage in an underground military bunker. But then again if they really loved their children, why would they have let them go off unprotected on a scouting mission by themselves?

Their conversation is cut short when they arrive at the quarters they share with their mother. Aurora Blake greets them with a smile from the sofa as they slip in and kick off their boots. 

“Where have you two been?” she questions them as she stitches a hole in a pair of pants.

“Work,” Bellamy and Octavia answer in unison as they take off their vests and hang them on the coat rack next to the door. 

“Classified mission,” Octavia offers as a further explanation before heading to the kitchen. Aurora nods and smiles. Octavia grabs a plate from the counter and scoops out a generous serving of mashed potatoes, turkey and vegetables that their mother kept warm on the stove for them. Bellamy’s not far behind her, famished from all the heavy lifting. 

“This is delicious, Mom,” he says between bites from the kitchen table, “thank you.”

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Suck up,” she mutters before she swipes the bottom half of his biscuit off his plate. 

“Rude,” he says to his sister who just smirks at him. 

“Are two working again tomorrow?” Aurora asks. 

“Probably,” Bellamy answers because Octavia has her mouth full of biscuit. 

“Well, make sure you’re both getting plenty of rest then,” his mom says. “I don’t want either of you getting sick.”

“Yes, Mom,” they answer together. 

After they finish eating, Octavia tosses her plate in the sink and heads for her room. “Good night,” she calls out before she shuts the door. Bellamy sighs and takes his own dishes to the sink. Apparently Octavia’s decided that he’s on washing and drying duty tonight. 

“You can just leave those for me, Sweetheart,” his mom calls from the sofa but Bellamy shakes his head. 

“No way, you cooked, I’ve got this,” he assures her. Bellamy gives the kitchen a thorough scrub and puts all the leftovers in the fridge before retiring to his own room for the night. 

“Night, Mom, love you,” he kisses Aurora on the check as he passes her. 

“Good night, dear,” she smiles warmly at him. 

Bellamy locks his bedroom door before stripping naked and crawling into bed. He inhales the fresh scent of his clean sheets with an appreciative smile. His mom must have done the laundry while they were on duty. 

His mind is turning over the events of the day as the image of the beautiful blonde girl floats across his closed eyelids. If there are a hundred more people from the sky roaming around in the forest, he can only assume he’ll be working a lot of extended shifts in the near future and he needs his sleep. He turns over on his side to get more comfortable, and uses a deep breathing technique he learned in basic training to help soldiers catch up on sleep in their down time. 

Bellamy’s surprised by how long he's out. When he rolls out of bed the next morning, his mother is already gone to work and Octavia is sipping coffee at the kitchen table, wearing jeans and a green cashmere sweater with her long hair flowing loosely down her back. 

“You going AWOL?” He asks as he stares at her casual attire. 

“Nope, Wallace wants me to report in civvies today. He told me to look ‘approachable’.” She informs him as she takes another long sip from her coffee mug. 

“What?” Bellamy asks, “when has that ever happened?”

“I don’t know, but you’re supposed to go in uniform, and I’m supposed to go like this.” Octavia finishes her coffee. “And if you’re not ready soon we’re going to be late.”

Bellamy pours himself a cup of hot coffee from the pot Octavia brewed and scalds his mouth as he downs it. He puts on the rest of his uniform and they leave their quarters together on their way back to Wallace’s office. 

He’s not surprised that Cage and Tsing are already there when they arrive. He salutes the President when he enters the room shortly after and stands at attention waiting for his orders. 

“A quick brief on the situation,” Cage begins. “It appears that the rest of the hundred have stayed with their transport ship. We haven’t detected any of them moving closer to Mount Weather, so either they haven’t noticed that the five we apprehended have gone missing, or they don’t care.”

Bellamy can’t imagine anyone not caring about the beautiful blonde girl he saw the day before. 

“It also seems as if their communication system was damaged in landing. We’ve picked up a signal coming from space asking for a response, but so far the people who made it to the ground have not answered it,” Cage tells them. “The signal from space is coming from something called ‘the Ark’. We don’t know what that is.”

Bellamy and Octavia nod to show they’re following. 

“The wristbands we removed yesterday seem to be some sort of biometric communication devices that measure vital signs and transmit them back to space,” Dr. Tsing says. “We think this means that ‘The Ark’ will assume these five are deceased. Perhaps that’s why the rest of the hundred haven’t come looking for them.”

“And perhaps it’s why they haven’t left their transport,” Cage adds, “they’re afraid of the unknown.”

Dante stands up from behind his desk and begins pacing the room with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. “Dr. Tsing ran a variety of tests over night,” he explains carefully as he walks. “The blood from these space people is ten times more effective at metabolizing radiation than that of the savages,” he pauses and looks at the siblings. 

“Yes, Sir,” Bellamy and Octavia answer in unison. 

“At this time, and after much discussion, we believe that the only reasonable course of action would be to introduce them into the gene pool,” the President resumes pacing as he speaks. Bellamy feels a growing sense of dread as he steals a glance at Octavia, dressed in her ‘approachable’ casual clothes. 

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant Blake,” Dante places his hand on Bellamy’s shoulder. “Your sister’s mission isn’t what you think.” Bellamy lets out a breath and Octavia relaxes her shoulders. “It’s you Bellamy, who I’m going to ask to make a sacrifice for your people.”

Bellamy holds the President’s gaze without blinking. “Sir?” he asks. 

“The girl,” President Wallace says simply. “Dr. Tsing has run her DNA through our system, and your genetic profile stands out as the best match to hers for creating children who retain her ability to metabolize radiation.”

Octavia tenses beside him again and opens her mouth to speak. Bellamy interrupts her before she can get herself into trouble. 

“Yes, Sir,” he speaks loudly, drowning out his sister’s attempt to interject. Cage and Dr. Tsing are staring intently at Bellamy as he waits for the President to drop the bomb he knows is coming next. 

“Bellamy,” Dante stands right in front of him now. “For the sake of the future of our people, I’m asking you to marry this girl.”

“ _Marry her_ , Sir?” Bellamy balks, confused. “Could Dr. Tsing not just take … you know, sperm samples from me -”

“I know it’s a significant ask of you, Lieutenant,” President Wallace interrupts him. “But I’d prefer not to keep this girl locked in confinement for the rest of her life.” Cage’s expression takes on a smug tone at the implications of that statement and Bellamy feels the urge to punch him again. “I want to integrate her into our society as well. So she can raise her children, your children, right here in Mount Weather, as one of us.”

Bellamy swallows and waits for further explanation. 

“The issue is, she’s going to need constant supervision until we’re satisfied that she’s been properly integrated. And that she poses no threat. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Bellamy’s voice sounds stronger than he feels. He understands that the President is sentencing him to a life of misery with a captive bride he’s going to be responsible for. Quite the price to pay for being a good soldier. 

“Then you’ll accept this mission, and be a hero to our people?” Dante asks, his icy blue eyes drilling into Bellamy’s soul. 

“Absolutely, Sir,” Bellamy answers quickly before Octavia can object. He knows the consequences for not accepting the mission will probably be worse than the hell he’s going to experience from saying yes. 

“Excellent,” President Wallace nods appreciatively. “I knew we could count on you Lieutenant Blake.”

“Sir?” Octavia asks and Bellamy silently pleads for her not to say anything stupid. He knows she’s livid right now. 

“Yes, Lieutenant Blake?” Dante turns to her. 

“May I ask why I’m dressed like this?”

Dante chuckles. Bellamy’s thankful that Octavia’s always been one of his favorites, because in his opinion, she’s really pushing her luck. 

“Of course!” The President says. “Your mission, Octavia, is to convince this girl that marrying your brother is a good idea.”

O-O-O

Bellamy feels a storm of anxiety building in his gut as he and Octavia follow the Wallaces and Dr. Tsing to isolation chamber 319. They decide that Dante and Octavia will go in to question the blonde while the rest of them wait in the hallway, so that they don’t overwhelm her. 

“Have you questioned any of the others?” Bellamy asks Cage as they stand together awkwardly. 

“Not yet,’ Cage tells him. “She was the first to wake up.” 

Bellamy can’t help being impressed, especially considering she got an extra dose of sedative the day before. _On second thought, it might not be a good sign that she’s such a fighter_ , he thinks to himself. 

“Where are my friends?” he hears her voice for the first time. “Who are you people? Where am I?”

“You’re safe here,” Dante purrs in the sweetest and most calming voice he can manage. Bellamy hopes he’s telling the truth. “Why don’t you start by telling us your name?”

Silence. 

“We just established that you speak English. I can understand why you’re afraid,” Dante tries again. “My name is Dante Wallace, and I’m the leader here in Mount Weather.”

Silence. 

“This is Octavia Blake, she’s going to help you get acquainted with the Mountain.”

“Where’s my wristband?” The girl finally speaks. 

“I’m sorry, but we can’t let contaminated items inside Mount Weather,” Dante answers her. “We couldn’t risk it. Our protocol is very strict. We prioritize safety over sentimentality.”

“Sentimentality?” Bellamy can hear the emotion rising in her voice. “That wristband was the only thing connecting me to my people,” she shouts and he groans inwardly. The girl clearly doesn’t understand playing her cards close to her chest. 

“How many of us did you capture?” she asks, and this time it sounds like she’s holding back tears. 

“First, your name,” the president holds his ground. 

She pauses for a moment while Bellamy assumes she weighs her options. She doesn’t really have much of a choice but to tell him at this point. “Clarke,” she finally says. “Clarke Griffin.”

 _Clarke._ Bellamy rolls the name over in his head. It suits her. 

"Clarke Blake, soon enough," Cage whispers beside him suggestively as he pokes Bellamy in the ribs. Bellamy glares at him. 

“Nice to meet you, Clarke,” Dante says. “You’re the only one of your people here in the Mountain,” he lies smoothly, “but you’ve got it wrong, you’re not a prisoner. We saved you.”

“What about the people I was with when I -” her voice wavers and she stops. 

“I’m so sorry to tell you Clarke, your friends were massacred by the savages.” Cage smirks at Dr. Tsing who smiles back at him. _You are both such sacks of shit_ , Bellamy thinks while he keeps his shoulders rigid. He understands that the girl might hold the key to the future of their people, but he can’t imagine enjoying someone’s pain the way they seem to be. 

“Savages?” she’s definitely crying now. Bellamy’s surprised by how much that bothers him. 

“Like I said,” Dante continues lying to her. “You’re lucky the patrol unit found you.”

“We - we didn’t think anyone survived on Earth,” she chokes out. 

“And we didn’t think anyone survived in space,” Dante answers her. She must look suspicious because he continues, “we saw your transport ship crash. That’s why the patrol unit went looking for you.”

“What about,” her voice continues to tremble, “what about the rest of my people on the drop ship?” she asks like she’s afraid to hear the answer. 

“Also attacked by the savages,” Dante informs her. “As far as we can tell, there were no survivors.”

The girl is weeping loudly now. “That means …” she stutters. “The rest of my people aren’t coming down. They’re going to run out of air.” She’s really telling them more than she should be. Bellamy can tell that these space people don’t have the same sort of threats they have on the ground. He’s been trained his whole life that if he’s questioned by Outsiders, they get his name and rank. Nothing else, no matter what. 

“Clarke, you’re understandably upset,” Dante croons. “Why don’t we let Octavia help you get cleaned up, and then you and I can have a better discussion about what we’re going to do from here.”

This time the silence is because Clarke is weeping instead of defiantly keeping her mouth shut. 

He hears his sister muttering some soft reassurances to the girl, his future wife apparently, and he’s thankful that Octavia’s there for her. When they emerge from the isolation chamber a few moments later, Octavia has her arm around Clarke’s shoulders as she leads her toward a private suite Dante had prepared on the containment level. 

She’s dressed in a white tank top and shorts with bare feet. Her hair is a mangled mess from the decontamination shower the day before and she’s got a nasty bruise on her cheek from where she hit the ground after she was gassed. Bellamy kicks himself for that. As her eyes land on him, she squints for a fraction of a second before schooling her face into a neutral expression. 

_Shit. She recognizes me._

  
  



	2. Earthlight

Clarke’s not an idiot, but she can pretend to be one if that’s what it’s going to take to survive. The creepy old man, Dante, thinks he’s got her backed into a corner, but she already knows more about them than they know about her. 

She knows that she’s inside the Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center, and that most likely these people are descended from the remains of the United States Government.

She knows that they value Ancient Earth artifacts. She recognized Van Gogh’s  _ Starry Night _ painting in her room immediately, although she’s positive it was a reproduction, because surely they’re not dumb enough to leave a priceless piece in a prison cell. And it’s either ironic that they chose it or completely intentional, because she knows Vincent painted that thing while he was living in an asylum and suffering from paranoid hallucinations.

She knows they’re putting on an act for her benefit. That’s fine, she can act too. She remembers the girl in the green sweater, “ _ Octavia” _ , he said her name was. She looked different the day before when she was prying Clarke’s wristband off, in an anti-radiation suit with her sweaty hair tied up in a messy braid. She’s careful not to let them know she remembers as the young woman approaches her side to support her weight. Octavia gently places her arm around Clarke’s shoulders, confirming her suspicion that she’s not a simple servant; this chick is ripped. Clarke assumes she spends a lot of time training.

She recognizes the guard in the hall with the dark hair and freckles too. His face was the last thing she saw before she passed out in the woods.  _ Gas _ , she thinks, as seeing him again triggers her memory, _ they attacked us with gas _ . He’s staring at her, so she quickly shifts her eyes to the floor. She knows they have soldiers. Which means that either there’s a need to control their own citizens, or the President wasn’t lying about the savages living outside the walls. 

Clarke counts two right turns and twenty seven doors as Octavia helps her through the maze of corridors until they reach a hastily-prepared living quarters. The walls are the same stark white as the medical holding cell she just left, but there’s a soft blue fabric covering the floor, more paintings hanging on the wall, a plush bed in one corner of the room and a leather sofa in the other. There’s also a door on the back wall that Clarke assumes must lead to a latrine. 

“What’s going to happen to me?” she demands after the door closes behind them. She doesn’t expect the truth, but the sooner she can get this girl talking, the more she might be able to learn from her.

“Don’t know,” Octavia says with a shrug. “But right now I’m supposed to help you get cleaned up. You’re a mess.” 

_ That’s the least of my worries _ , Clarke thinks. Her first priority is to convince someone to send a message to the Ark. She saw a handheld radio on the soldier’s hip when they passed him, so she’s hoping they have a full comms system that can reach space. She’s just got to figure out a way to convince someone to let her use it, and she’s not sure if Octavia’s the right person. 

“You just gonna stand there staring at me?” Octavia asks rudely. 

“What else should I be doing right now?” Clarke snaps back, folding her arms across her chest.

Octavia crosses gracefully to the door at the back of the room and gestures for Clarke to follow her. They’re in some sort of a clothing storage room. Clarke eyes the rows of pristine garments in awe. They’re all new, bright and colourful. Nothing like the threadbare repurposed rags they wear on the Ark. Octavia notices her gawking. 

“Not what you’re used to?” she says, more of an observation than a question. “One of the benefits of decreasing the world’s population from eleven billion to less than a hundred thousand,” Octavia continues and Clarke’s mouth drops open in shock. “There’s a lot of leftover stuff,” she explains. 

Clarke bites her bottom lip and nods. On the Ark, everything was rationed and in short supply. Apparently Mount Weather doesn’t deal with the same shortages.  _ So if you can decontaminate these before you bring them in, you didn’t need to throw out my watch or my wristband _ , she thinks. Another fact to tuck away for later. 

“Anyway,” Octavia opens a second door on the far side of the closet, “we need to clean you up before you get dressed.” Clarke follows her into another pristine white room, wondering how big this suite actually is. She finds herself in the cleanest and most luxurious bathroom she’s ever seen. There’s a huge white bathtub, a separate shower with a spotless glass enclosure, and an overwhelming collection of jars and bottles on shelves around the room. 

Clarke runs her fingertips lightly over the pristine marble counter top and catches her reflection in the mirror. Her face is cut and bruised from the short time she spent on the ground, but someone had cleaned the dirt off of her. Her hair is washed but tangled, and she’s never seen a shirt as white and clean as the one she’s wearing.

“No mirrors in space, or you just think you’re really pretty?” Octavia chirps from behind her.

“Sorry,” Clarke apologizes as she turns away from the mirror. She wants to reveal as little as possible until she figures out what’s going on. 

“I’m assuming you have showers on your Ark?” Octavia mutters as she gathers a small collection of jars from the shelves around the room. Clarke nods. “Well, that’s a step above the savages at least,” she places the containers on the edge of the bathtub. 

“You’re going to have to start with a bath I think. Use this one on your hair first, work it into a lather before you rinse it out,” she points to a jar with a dark purple substance inside of it. “Then this one, the conditioner,” Octavia points to another jar, “this one has to sit while you soak, for at least ten minutes,” she paused to look at Clarke, “I’m assuming you can tell time?”

“Well I was wearing a watch when I came in, wasn’t I?” Clarke deadpans. She regrets her sarcastic remark when Octavia’s eyes flash dangerously at her. “I can tell time,” Clarke confirms, shifting her weight nervously from one side to the other.

“Right,” Octavia nods and turns back toward the tub to turn on the water. “Now judging by the hair on your legs, I’m assuming you’ve never shaved them?”

“Um, men shave their faces on the Ark,” she says. She’s fairly certain that piece of information is useless anyway. 

“Well, it’s probably best for us just to wax you today then and get it over with,” Octavia sighs with exasperation. “This one is body wash. Use it while you’re letting the conditioner soak in. After you’ve rinsed the conditioner out, get out of the tub and wrap yourself in some towels. Call me in and I’ll take it from there.”

Clarke nods slowly, and lets out a deep breath when Octavia leaves the bathroom and slams the door behind her. She undresses quickly and sinks into the warm water, pleasantly surprised by the relaxing effect it has on her sore muscles. There are no baths on the Ark, that would be an incredible waste of water rations. 

She feels a lump in her throat as she thinks about the Ark, and how her mother must be feeling now that all of the wristbands have gone dead. _ If _ they’ve all gone dead. She suppresses the urge to cry, because Octavia can probably hear her from the other room. She opens the first jar and tentatively sniffs it. It smells like lavender. She lathers the fragrant purple goop into her hair as she thinks, running through what she’s managed to learn about these people. Clarke needs to be strong if she’s going to get through this, there’s no time for a breakdown.

She doesn’t think Finn and Wells and the others are actually dead. She hopes they’re not. They were all just as alive as she was when they were gassed by the soldiers.  _ They’re probably keeping us all separate,  _ she decides, _ seeing what they can learn from us if we’re isolated.  _ She swears softly under her breath when she thinks about Jasper Jordan being questioned by the President. He’ll probably tell him everything he wants to know. She’s going to have to be careful not to lie.

When she’s out of the tub and wrapped in a collection of towels, Octavia returns. Clarke tries not to flinch as her hair is ripped from her body follicle-by-follicle, and she’s pretty sure Octavia is getting some sort of a sick thrill from causing her pain. She clenches her jaw and suffers through it. 

The beauty routine she experiences over the next two hours is beyond anything she ever would have considered possible on the Ark. There’s nail clipping, eyebrow plucking, exfoliating, moisturizing and blow drying, which Octavia works through quickly with skilled hands. Clarke waits for her to open up an inevitable line of questioning, but she’s surprised when she stays comfortably silent as she works. Despite Octavia’s apparent comfort with the lack of conversation, Clarke’s mind is running wild.

“You do this every day?” she finally demands, breaking the silence as the other woman adds soft, loose curls to Clarke’s freshly-shining hair.

Octavia snorts. “No, when you take care of yourself like a civilized person regularly, there’s less to do on a daily basis,” she replies. 

“I’m not sure I would call this civilized,” Clarke mutters, and Octavia smirks.

“Now we just need to get you dressed and do your make-up,” Octavia tells her as she finishes Clarke’s hair. “Come on, let’s pick out your clothes.” Clarke follows her back into the enormous closet and waits for further instructions. 

“You’re having dinner with the President, so a dress would be appropriate,” Octavia prods her after a moment. She rifles through a row of luxurious fabric and pulls out a blue dress with the one hundred year old faded tags still on it. 

“I can’t wear that!” Clarke reels, horrified. Octavia raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “My ... it would show my …” Clarke stutters and feels the blood rush to her face as she motions at the dangerously deep neckline that would land somewhere near her navel and leave nothing to the imagination. 

“Your best assets?” Octavia finishes for her, with an amused grin. Her eyes study Clarke’s face for a moment. “Clarke, how old are you?” she demands. 

“Seventeen,” Clarke answers her quickly. “I’ll be eighteen in a month.”

“Jesus Christ,” Octavia mutters with a note of indignation in her voice. 

“Is there something wrong with my age?” Clarke asks, secretly relieved when Octavia returns the low cut number to its rack behind her.

“You’re just … young,” she answers after a brief pause as she rummages for another option. “Why did your people send a bunch of kids down here by themselves?”

“How old are you?” Clarke asks, side-stepping the question.

“Twenty-three,” she says flippantly as she pulls out another option. This one is much more appropriate. It’s a simple pink dress with short sleeves and a boat neck that flares out slightly at the hips and will probably fall to Clarke’s knees. 

“Thank you,” she says gratefully as Octavia hands over the silky dress.

“You’ll need shoes too,” Octavia reaches for another shelf and pulls out a pair of simple ballet flats. “And you didn’t answer my question, why did your people send down kids?”

Clarke takes a deep breath as she accepts the shoes.  _ If I don’t tell her, it’s going to seem like I’m not cooperating. I want to stay on her good side,  _ she thinks. “They were going to kill me on my eighteenth birthday,” she studies the shoes intently without looking up, “but my mom convinced them to send us down here instead. She knew the chances were good that we’d die on Earth, but I definitely would have been killed on my birthday otherwise.”

“Seems like a weird coming of age tradition,” Octavia quips, “here we typically have a party with chocolate cake.”

Clarke smiles and looks up, pleasantly surprised to see a small grin on the young woman’s face. “I knew something I wasn’t supposed to, and our leaders were afraid I wasn’t going to keep it to myself,” she explains. “The Ark … it isn’t like here,” Clarke gestures at the opulent clothing surrounding them, “we have to ration everything. If someone breaks the rules, we don’t waste resources on them.”

“Hmm,” Octavia grunts. “But you didn’t actually do anything wrong yet, right? They were just afraid you might?”

Clarke nods. 

“Well, go ahead and get dressed, they’re expecting us in the President’s quarters in ten minutes,” Octavia says as she leaves the closet and closes the door behind her. 

Once she’s in the dress, Clarke takes a minute in front of the large mirror.  _ I look like I belong in an Ancient Earth movie _ , she thinks as she looks herself over from head to toe. She runs her hands over the smooth fabric of the dress, still adjusting to the idea of wearing something that’s never belonged to any one else.

When she gets back to the main area of the suite, Octavia is standing next to the exit waiting for her. She reaches for the door knob, then pauses with a glance back at Clarke. “Listen,” she whispers quietly, her eyes darting toward a camera in one of the corners that Clarke hadn’t noticed before. “Whatever you do, don’t lie. Answer their questions, be polite.” She turns back around without waiting for a response and opens the door.

_ Pretending she’s on my side is an interesting strategy to get me to spill my guts _ , Clarke thinks as she follows Octavia out into the empty hallway. Despite her suspicions, she doesn’t see how she has much of a choice other than to play along. She’s completely at their mercy, she doesn’t know how to get out of the facility, and she might not even be able to find her way back to the drop ship if she did manage to escape. For now, she’s going to have to cooperate.

The ballet flats feel strange on her feet as they travel through the empty halls. Nothing so delicate had survived the first twenty five years on the Ark. Octavia stops suddenly in front of her and uses a key card to open a door with an “ACCESS RESTRICTED” warning stamped across it.  _ So she’s far enough up in the hierarchy that she has access to restricted areas _ , Clarke thinks as she follows her through the door. This new passageway is less well-maintained than the hallway they just came from, and looks more like a maintenance corridor. It reminds her of the maintenance shafts on the Ark, though it’s bigger and they’re able to walk single-file instead of crawling.

A few minutes later, Octavia stops at a seemingly random access door and cracks it open carefully. Clarke can’t see what she’s looking for until she jerks the door open wide. The uniformed soldier with the freckles is waiting for them in the hall. Clarke notices the name patch stuck to his vest reads “BLAKE”.  _ So he’s related to Octavia _ , she thinks.

“Let’s go before anyone sees her,” he grumbles to Octavia and jerks his head in Clarke’s direction. Octavia nods and falls in behind Clarke as the soldier leads the way through the nicest hallway she’s seen yet. They quickly reach a solid metal door with a symbol emblazoned on it that Clarke recognizes from her Earth Studies class; the seal of the President of the United States of America.

Blake raps quickly on the door, which swings open to reveal the most luxurious room Clarke has ever seen. Crystal chandeliers glitter from the ceiling above, casting a soft glow over the rich, burgundy decor. Clarke’s eyes dance from the enormous Norman Rockwell painting to the oversized velvet furniture as her mouth pops opens in disbelief. 

“Clarke, welcome,” a familiar voice greets her smoothly and she turns to see President Wallace approaching her in the same suit he’d been wearing a few hours earlier when she first met him. “We’re so thrilled to have you joining us for dinner.” The old man extends his hand expectantly. Clarke doesn’t miss the glimmer of curiosity in his eyes as he sizes her up.

“Thank you,” she answers politely, shaking his hand. “So nice of you to invite me.” If she knows anything from growing up on Alpha Station, it’s how to bull shit with people who are obsessed with their own importance. 

“How was your afternoon with Octavia?” Dante looks over Clarke’s shoulder pointedly, and she can’t help but follow his gaze. She catches soldier Blake staring at her. He snaps his eyes straight ahead as she turns, now focused on the air in front of him.  _ It makes sense he’s curious, _ she thinks,  _ none of them have ever met anyone born in space. _

“Great,” she answers, turning again to look at the President. “Thank you for the kindness and hospitality,” Clarke gestures at her new dress. 

“Well of course,” Dante turns and starts walking toward another room. Clarke assumes she’s supposed to follow. “Clarke, we want you to feel at home here, we’re so happy we were able to rescue you and bring you to Mouth Weather.” He comes to a stop in front of a long wooden dining table. Clarke counts ten chairs positioned around it, with empty dinner plates and flatware set up in front of six of them. 

“I appreciate that,” Clarke says carefully, “but I’d like to discuss my people still on the Ark,” she says cautiously as she takes a seat at the table. To her surprise, Octavia and the soldier sit down across from her as Dante takes his seat at the head of the table. 

“In good time,” Dante holds up his hand, “you’re understandably concerned, and I’m sure you’re frightened, but we need to get to know one another,” he says. Clarke grits her teeth together. She knows the Ark has less than three months of oxygen. She’s going to need to get to that radio as soon as possible. 

“What would you like to know?” She asks, working hard to maintain a facade of patience. 

“Let’s start with introductions,” the President suggests. “This is Lieutenant Bellamy Blake,” he nods toward the freckled soldier sitting across from her. Bellamy nods at her without breaking eye contact.

A middle-aged man with a scarred lip and woman in high heels enter the room from another door and each take a seat at the table. “And this is my son, Cage Wallace, and our chief medical advisor, Dr. Tsing,” the President says. 

“Nice to meet you all,” Clarke greets them cautiously. A man wearing a jacket and white gloves enters the room and begins removing sterling silver covers from the plates laid out in front of them. Clarke nearly swoons when she smells the rich, spiced aroma of roasted chicken and vegetables. 

“Help yourself,” the President smiles encouragingly, having clearly noticed her reaction. 

Clarke takes a conservative portion of chicken, carrots, potatoes and some sort of green vegetable she’s never seen before, and takes a sip of the water in front of her while she waits for the rest of her dinner companions to load up their plates. 

“Tonight, I’d like to welcome Clarke to Mount Weather,” Dante says before anyone touches their food. “We’re blessed to have found her and welcomed her into our home.”

“Welcome to Clarke,” the others around the table chime in together and then pick up their forks to eat. Clarke follows their lead. She carefully raises a piece of the golden brown chicken to her mouth and closes her eyes to groan with pleasure when she tastes it.

Everyone is staring at her when she opens her eyes. “Sorry,” she apologizes quickly. “I’ve just … I’ve never tasted anything like this before,” she explains lamely. The soldier, Bellamy, is smirking at her reaction. She decides she doesn’t like him. 

“So Clarke,” Cage, the President’s son addresses her, “tell us about you.” 

“Um, I like art,” she blurts out, unsure why that’s the first thing her mind comes up with. “I really liked the Van Gogh in the room I woke up in today.”

“Very good Clarke,” President Wallace croons. “I see that our cousins on the Ark still have at least some knowledge of history, unlike the hordes of savages that prowl the planet outside of these walls.”  _ He’s trying to scare me _ , Clarke thinks. 

“I don’t understand,” Clarke says, glancing between Dante and Cage, “Earth is inhabitable, why are you still living underground in this bunker?”

Dante holds his silver fork gently to his plate and uses a gleaming butter knife to slide a piece of carrot onto the back of it before ferrying it to his mouth. He slowly chews and then swallows the carrot while she waits.

“It’s not inhabitable for us,” he informs her, his icy blue eyes unblinking as he gauges her reaction. “After the bombs went off, the Outsiders went through a process of adjustment. Many of them died. The ones who were more tolerant of the radiation were the only ones who survived.” Clarke nods to indicate she’s following. “Since we were safe within the confines of these walls, we unfortunately never went through that process,” he tells her.

“I don’t know if I’d say unfortunately, Dad,” Cage interrupts. “It’s good that our people are safe in here.” 

Clarke takes another bite of chicken, chewing thoughtfully for a moment. “Then why don’t I have radiation sickness?” she asks. “I was exposed for at least 24 hours. I should be violently ill or dead right now.”

“Solar radiation,” Dr. Tsing answers beside her and Clarke turns to face her. “Your ancestors were lucky enough to be exposed to medium-strength doses of radiation at regular intervals during solar flares, over a long period of time so their bodies had a chance to adapt. I ran some tests on your blood when I examined you. Your system is ten times more effective than the savages at filtering out the radiation.”

“You stole my blood while I was sleeping?” Clarke arches an eyebrow. She realizes immediately that in order for the doctor to know how effective the savages are at metabolizing radiation, she must have tested their blood at some point. From what she’s heard to far, it doesn’t seem like the Outsiders would have given up their blood easily.

“No Clarke,” Dante soothes from the head of the table before Dr. Tsing can answer. “We tested you for side effects of radiation poisoning so that we could start administering treatment right away if we needed to. I told you, you’re safe here.” The note of steel in his voice sends a shiver down her spine. She nods and does her best to hide her uneasiness. 

“Thank you,” she says softly as she scoops up some more of the buttery potatoes onto her fork. “I’m sorry,” she continues, “it’s just … a lot to take in right now.”

“You’re right about that,” Dante agrees. “It’s a lot for us too. We didn’t realize there were any people left alive in the universe aside from the savages. I must say, it’s quite a pleasant surprise.”

“So you’re ok with me radioing them, and letting them know it’s safe for the rest of us to come down?” She asks, knowing she’s pushing the issue.

“Clarke,” Dante says carefully, pushing some more food onto his fork, “how many of your people live on the Ark?” he asks. 

She decides to be honest. Octavia warned her about lying, and has no way of knowing what he might already know. “There were three thousand, seven hundred and eighty two people when they sent me down to the ground,” she responds quickly. “The numbers might be less now, the Council was voting on a motion to reduce the population to conserve oxygen while they work on the scrubber problem.”

“I see,” Dante chews his food while he appears to be thinking over her comment. “Clarke, there are just under four hundred people living here in Mount Weather. How quickly do you think we’d be overthrown if we let all of your people inside?”

Her blood runs cold. “Overthrown?” she asks, confused.

“You mentioned a Council,” Dante continues eating as if the fate of everyone Clarke knows isn’t hanging in the balance. “Don’t you think they’ll be a little put out if they have to give up control of their people?” he asks. Clarke hesitates and Dante nods as if she answered. “The thing is, Clarke, my job is to think of the well-being of Mount Weather’s citizens.”

Clarke feels her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. He’s not going to let her use that radio, and she’s trapped. She has no idea if the other delinquents are dead or alive, and within six months she’ll be the last descendant of the Ark. She draws in a shaky breath and grinds her teeth together. 

“Don’t worry beautiful, you still haven’t heard the best part,” Cage says with a twisted smile. Clarke glares at him as her feeling of dread grows.

“Cage,” Dante holds his hand up to his son with annoyance. “Enough.” He turns to Clarke. “Dr. Tsing used your blood sample to run some tests against our population’s database,” he says carefully, setting his knife and fork down on his plate as he finishes his meal. Clarke follows his lead and sets down her own utensils. Her heart races in her chest while she waits for him to continue. 

“Clarke, we’re happy to let you stay here in Mount Weather, where it’s safe. There’s nowhere else for you to go, really, since the savages killed the other members of your crew and you’d likely meet the same fate if we sent you out there.” Clarke swallows and nods, feeling the tears well up in her eyes. She picks up her crystal water glass to take a drink, hoping she can stop the emotions from showing on her face. 

“We’ve decided that the best course of action,” Dante pauses one more time, looking around the table. No one blinks. “Would be to integrate you into our gene pool, due to the high probability that your children would forge a path to our freedom from this facility.”

Clarke watches in slow motion as the glass slips from her hand and shatters on the wooden table in front of her. Water cascades onto her lap as she gapes at the man in front of her. “What,” she finally manages to choke out angrily. “This is insane. I won’t do it. You can go float yourself!” She slams her hand onto the table in front of her as she moves to stand up, swearing as a shard of glass slices into her arm. Blood spills from the cut across the pretty pink dress, ruining it. 

_ This is why they captured us _ , she thinks and she watches the blood flow from her arm.  _ This is  _ **_GOOD_ ** _ , this good! It means the others are probably still alive. They’re going to want as much radiation-immune blood as they can get,  _ her mind races. 

Bellamy and Octavia stand up quickly and move to Clarke’s side of the table. She’s assuming they plan to subdue her. With only an instant to spare, she grabs a thick chunk of jagged glass, wincing as it slices into her palm, and holds it to Octavia’s throat. Everyone freezes. She notices Bellamy’s hand is dangerously close to the gun at his hip. 

“Move and she’s dead,” she hisses at him. “I want out of here,” she demands, keeping her eyes laser focused on Bellamy’s right hand. “I’m not scared of the savages, they can’t be worse than all of you.”

“Clarke,” the President tries to sound soothing, but Clarke’s beyond the point of trying to work with him. “Think about this,” he reasons. “You’re surrounded. Even if you do manage to kill Octavia, you can’t escape.”

Bellamy’s jaw clenches even tighter at the President’s words. Octavia’s green eyes fierce, issuing a challenge despite the situation. 

“Maybe we can work something out,” Dante tries again when Clarke doesn’t budge. “We could radio your people and agree for them to land on another part of the planet, where they’ll be safe from the savages, but not near Mount Weather.”

Clarke shifts slightly to look at him so she can try to figure out whether or not he’s lying. It’s a fatal mistake. A strong arm wraps around her neck and the glass shard is knocked to the floor. Bellamy Blake is behind her now, pulling her away from Octavia with ease, like he’s carrying a rag doll. 

“Let me go, you disgusting barbarian,” she shrieks, fighting for her life now. “I’m only seventeen years old!” Clarke kicks wildly behind her and feels the tiniest jolt of satisfaction when he swears and stumbles as she makes contact with his knee. “You people are sick!” 

Cage snickers as he gets up from his seat and strides toward her casually with some sort of injection device in his hand. “I hope you like it rough,” he laughs as he jabs Clarke with the device. She feels the fight rush out of her body as the substance leaks into her veins. “Because this barbarian is your future husband.”

Everything goes black.


End file.
